


Innocence

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker has ruined everything he could have ever had with Batman- smashed it to pieces with a crowbar, and over the years he's been eaten away by it. But when he gets his hands on Damian, it's as if the world has given him his own little Bruce- and he is tormented by the possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Set to Halestorm's "Innocence".

He stared at the lithe boy, tied to the old metal pipe- unmoving, head slumped down. Unconscious.

The Joker rubbed his chin in thought as his green eyes memorized the shape of his body, the mismatch of suits he had donned- the differences to the many Robins he had met over the years.

This boy wasn’t the one from nights past. The Joker walked around the pipe, examined the shape of his shoulders, his legs as they were folded beneath him. This one was younger, most definitely, and built differently. The muscle that was developing in his young body was broader, not as lithe as the last.

The Joker crouched down and gripped the boy’s chin, forcing his head up to examine his face. Something so familiar there, something buried inside his head, he’d seen that face before, he was sure. Somewhere.

Those eyes fluttered open then, dark, nearly black, and gazed into his green eyes in a drowsy state. Eyes widened, the Joker felt something inside him crack as he recognized that face.

Bats had that face- older, obviously- matured and hardened with age and ware, but similar. And those eyes- black as the night, dark and cold until the touched were _just right_ and then they smoldered with such a fire.

The Joker released him, stumbled back, turned away from the boy and walked to the wall, resting his fist against it and closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the cool surface. He felt like he was suffocating. How could the boy look so much like his Bat? _How_? How did he have the same delicious eyes, the same pink lips?

How, unless their blood was the same, and the Bat had actually bred with someone. The Joker’s fist tightened as his gut did, as he imagined his Bat naked and glorious over some whore, making the little child behind his back. He gritted his teeth- he seethed inwardly- and he longed so badly to feel a fist connect with his skull- for the pain to drag him back to the present and out of a past where the Batman was intimately only his, where he belonged to no one else-

Before he let a crowbar get in the way of that.

The Joker spun on his heel, turned and walked over to the boy, getting on his knees. The child was disoriented, and when the Joker loomed near he strained _towards_ him instead of away. Something tugged inside him, something brittle and dusty, and the Joker reached a hand out, running his fingers through the boy’s dark hair.

Like silk, like his father- like _the man who he dare didn’t name_. The Joker realized he was worrying his bottom lip as he stroked that hair, as the child relaxed, a faint smile on his lips. Before he realized what he was doing, the Joker was pulling on the ties behind the boy, the ropes loosening, until he could slip an arm around him and pull him from the pipe, against his lithe and trembling body.

The Joker clutched the child, nuzzled down into his hair and inhaled and _god he smelled just like Bruce_ and died a bit inside as he made a feeble, choked sound. The child was reaching up, clutching onto his jacket and burying closer to him- the Joker a source of warmth in an otherwise cold and lifeless room. And the clown let him, continued to hold him, things buried so deep inside him boiling up suddenly.

He thought of Bruce- Batman, yes, _don’t say his name_ \- of the glint in his dark eyes when he had the Joker just the way he wanted him, pinned down and writhing and wanting and giving, and _oh the nights_ , so lost in each other. A past buried now- because the clown lost himself in the motions and let that part of him he buried down deep come out, let it cave in bones and muscle and leave another Robin- so long ago it felt, like lifetimes- to die.

Did Bruce ever forgive him for Jason? No, no, _there was no way_. Especially with the lack of remorse the clown showed- until that glint was gone, and _if_ the masked vigilante ever did fuck him again, it was rough and punishing like- there was no odd tenderness for the one man who used to understand him and his damned costume and mask, not compassion for the man that gave him a purpose and he needed just as badly as the clown needed him.

Batman had suffocated, drowned, that need, while the Joker stewed in it until he saw nothing else- until he disappeared and forced himself to forget.

But _God_ , how did he forget with a part of Bruce in his arms. The boy was shifting around, looking up at him, eyes a bit clearer, and the Joker wished it was Bruce in his arms, wished it was the Bat and it was a dream and he hadn’t touched the bird or the crowbar and it was _just another night_.

He cupped the boy’s chin and held it, for a moment seeing a future in him- a Bruce, a new Bruce to replace the one who had left him. If he kept him, the boy could be trained to love-

_No. Not love. Never love- that was a lie, that was a lie, thatwasalie._

He pressed his forehead to the boy’s who squirmed- a feeling the Joker loved more than he cared to admit. Then he pressed him to his chest again and quivered because part of him _wanted_ the boy who was so much like Bruce-

And that was terrifying.

He forced himself to stand, gathering up the child who was looking around but wincing, his head must be throbbing- yesyesyes that’s it- and carried him from the room, clutching so tightly he might bruise. He feared he’d drop him- he was too perfect, too much- and the idea of this one breaking hurt the Joker in a spot inside him he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, brought the Joker to _life_ and made his blood rise against his skin. The Robin in his arms was moving more- but not fighting his hold, there was something about the Joker in that moment that was oddly soothing, and his skull pounded as if the world was enclosed inside, screaming and battering for their way out- but the Joker held him firm, whispered something inaudible but soothing in manner.

And he waited. He waited for the Bat, because he knew if he stayed inside he’d never let this one go. And when he swooped down suddenly, all cape and glares, the Joker for a moment balked and clutched the boy and wanted to keep him. Wanted his own little Bruce to love him and hold him and _make love_ to him like the real Bruce had once upon a time so many nights past.

There were no words. Batman stood, imposing, menacing, and the Joker seemed so small as he walked slowly towards him. One step- another- he had to focus on them or he’d miss one- and suddenly he was so close that if he wasn’t clutching the boy he could throw himself into those arms and pray to the nothing up in the sky that the Bat would find something in him that night worth touching.

Instead he cradled the child and stared at Bruce, lips mouthing his name but not saying it. He looked down- the boy had closed his eyes again- and gave in for a moment, lips brushing his soft hair- it was Bruce in his arms, it smelled like him and someday could feel _just like him_.

But it _wasn’t_ , it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t, and he had to remind himself or he’d be lost- lost in what he felt too strongly inside his belly, lost in the cold air his skin felt too keenly, the sounds of the boy’s small breaths. He’d be lost in the madness he knew wasn’t his- he was painfully sane and hating every moment of it.

Instead he pulled the boy form his body- painfully- and passed him to the Dark Knight, who accepted the boy, pulled him close, kept his eyes on the clown without a word. The Joker had hoped the action might earn him _something_ , some word or gesture that _yes_ Bruce still fought his affection for him daily like he did- yes he wanted and needed and craved him but he was too strong in his control- _anything_ would have been enough.

Instead he stared, and the Joker knew he was lost to him- and now the boy was lost as well. The one chance he had at recreating the man he needed _so damn badly_ was out of his grasp- so perfect and so _gone_.

The Joker fell to his knees and hung his head, reaching out and clutching the edge of Bruce’s cape, wringing it in his hands and nearly screaming when it was pulled from him- when Batman had turned and was walking away with the little treasure and everything the Joker ever needed.

**Author's Note:**

> This... this is just an idea that hit me today, and I had to run with. I mean, in a universe where we involve the Robins, it's hard to give Bruce and the Joker a "good" relationship. And I can just imagine him going insane upon finding Damian, the chance at a Batman he can mold to love him.
> 
> I also have this silly fantasy that Damian grows up and has an obsession with the Joker because of all this- but I'm not sure if I'll take that anywhere ever. In the end this is _still_ Batman/Joker, and that might not be XD
> 
> So, I apologize that it's a bit random- my brain is fried and I'm tired- but I thought it was better than nothing at all! Thanks,a s always, for reading :)


End file.
